Which in me shall abide
Hoping likewise that from your heart
You will not let it slide
It seems that each year the voilet chooses her time badly to bring forth her blooms from her leaf-strewn abode. The day before the harsh winds and rains enveloped us, the first delicate flowers could be seen gracing the barren-banks of the lanes. They looked so fragile, and yet, amazingly, they withstood such horrendous weather: where the daffodils were burnt and withered by the wind, the violets looked pristine, as though washed and polished ready for the Easter church parade. As I walk the lanes, everywhere I look along the bankings, there is a scattering of purple petals, looking like confetti left over after a wedding. Perhaps this is the time when Nature renews her vows with the Earth.
The poem is "A Nosegay Always Sweet" by William Hunnis